


Simon's Happy Ending

by EllsKay



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Baking, Baz Decides To Help Him Out, Baz Is Happy For Once, Baz Is In A Band, Dancing, Depression, Drinking, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Running away from home, Simon is sad, Skating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-01-20 15:46:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12436083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllsKay/pseuds/EllsKay
Summary: Simon got the happy ending he had always dreamed of. He has learned to control his magic, he defeated the Humdrum, the Families are subdued and the Mage is going to give him his place as soon as he finishes his studies. Not to mention he's engaged to the girl of his dreams.Then why is he so miserable?Perhaps a chance encounter with his old enemy will provide an answer to that.





	1. Broken

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this fic months ago, but I got hopelessly stuck at the third chapter. So, I decided to post it in the hopes that it will motivate me to finally finish it...  
> Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy it :)

**SIMON**

I knock on the bedroom door. “Are you ready?”

“In a second,” comes Agatha’s voice from inside.

I sit down on the couch in the living room, tapping my foot on the floor. For some reason I feel exhausted. I have no idea how I’m going to go through this whole event. (I have no idea how I went through every single event that’s taken place these past two years.)

Two minutes later the bedroom door opens and Agatha steps out. My breath hitches. She looks like an angel in her long white dress. She looks so beautiful at the moment that something long dead stirs again inside me. But it’s weak and it goes back to its slumber after only a few moments, leaving behind only an ache in my chest that has nothing to do with longing. (That’s been dead for a long time, too.)

I force a smile. “You look amazing.”

Her smile is just as strained. “You too.”

I feel like I want to scream. Or curl up in the fetal position on the floor until the end of time. How did my life come to this? How did _both_ our lives come to this?

“Shall we?” she says.

I nod and we leave our apartment.

* * *

 Agatha’s parents welcome me in their home as warmly as ever. (Perhaps even more so now that I’m their daughter’s fiance.)

There are already people there, dressed in expensive suits and long gowns. Agatha and I start mingling like we’re supposed to. More and more people are coming and the party has officially started.

We keep being approached by people I barely know. They’re all smiling at us, congratulating us on our engagement, telling us what a beautiful couple we make, and we thank them heartily, smile at them until our faces hurt and then change the subject as smoothly as we can. Agatha’s better at this sort of thing than I am, so I let her handle it, chiming in from time to time, sipping at my champagne, never letting my smile fall.

Finally, I spot a riot of purple-dyed curls in the crowd. I excuse myself as gracefully as I can and walk over to them, feeling the weight on my chest lift a little.

“Simon!” shrieks Penny as soon as she sees me approaching her and lets go of Micah’s hand in order to rush towards me and hug me tightly.

“It’s so good to see you,” I tell her truthfully. My voice is thick with emotion as I pat her back. _Merlin_ , how I missed her. It has only been two months since she moved to America, but it feels like it’s been _years_.

When she lets me go, I say hello to Micah as well.

“Do you mind if I talk with Simon for a bit?” Penny asks him then.

“No problem,” says Micah smiling and goes to talk to Agatha.

Penny’s smile falls after he’s gone and she proceeds to examine me from head to toe. “How are you?”

I shrug. “Fine.”

She seems unconvinced. “Are you sure everything’s alright? You look a little… I don’t know. _Off_.”

I manage to smile convincingly. “Everything’s perfect, Penny. Don’t worry about me.”

I’m not lying. Everything _is_ perfect. Like a fairy-tale book happy ending. The Humdrum is gone. No one died. I’ve learnt to control my magic without tearing holes in the magickal atmosphere. The Families are subdued. The Mage wants to give me his place as soon as I finish my studies. And I’m going to marry the girl of my dreams.

Everything’s perfect. And that’s exactly the problem.

I’ve got everything I’ve ever wished for, but I guess what I thought I wanted and what I _really_ need are two very different things. My life now is quiet and peaceful and predictable. Everything’s already planned out for me. Who I’ll marry, what my job will be, where I’ll live, what my children’s names will be. I don’t need to worry about the future – it’s already taken care of. I just need to keep up appearances and do what’s expected from the Chosen One who saved the magickal world – finish university, attend parties with my future wife and smile.

My life is quiet and peaceful and predictable and _fake_. Just a polished exterior that hides out the emptiness inside. And I’m suffocating in it.

Sometimes I wish I could just leave it all behind. Go with Penny to America and never look back. Or maybe just go back to Watford, help Ebb with the goats. Maybe I could get my own farm and take care of my own goats, far away from everyone and everything.

But I’m the Chosen One. And Chosen Ones don’t run.

* * *

At some point Agatha drags me to the dance floor. I’m still a terrible dancer, but the song is really slow so we’re just swaying at the same spot. (Not even I can mess that up.) That’s when I see him.

Ebony black hair. Chalk-white skin. Stormy eyes. Face alight with laughter as he drags a dark-haired teenage girl to the dance floor. The girl is trying to escape his hold and her face is flushed in mortification, but she’s laughing too and finally gives in and dances with him. His eyes meet mine above the girl’s head, grey like rain clouds.

His lips curve upwards in a playful smirk that’s both familiar and different, and I freeze.

* * *

I haven’t seen Baz since we graduated from Watford.

That’s good, I guess. The only reason I would have to meet him after that would be to have our big fight and kill each other. But the need never arose. After I got rid of the Humdrum and learned to control my magic, I was pretty much invincible and the Families realized they didn’t stand a chance against me. In the end, they complied to the status quo, if a little (or rather a lot) begrudgingly. So there was no need to kill the heir of the Pitches. They were practically harmless by then.

I only heard a few things about what he did after graduation. I heard he left England to study at Stanford. I heard that he didn’t care much about the politics in the magickal world anymore. I heard that there was some sort of rift with his father, though I still don’t know the cause.

That’s pretty much it.

But now he’s here, at my future in-laws’ house. Dancing around with a girl that must be his sister. Laughing easily and loudly. Smirking and sneering without malice. He’s exactly like the Baz I remember, and completely different at the same time.

He’s still Baz, I guess. But nothing like the broody, moody Baz that I saw two years ago. The one that looked so unhappy and miserable that he couldn’t even bring himself to antagonize me anymore.

This is a Baz that’s happy and at ease with himself. And I’m not prepared for the pang of jealousy that makes my throat constrict and my eyes water.

* * *

I manage to excuse myself and go outside to the garden. It’s raining but I use my magic to deflect the raindrops. I don’t use words for my spells anymore – I don’t have to. I control my magic better like this, just with thoughts. I guess that’s why my magic was so unpredictable in the past, because I was trying to use magic like everyone else did. But I wasn’t like everyone else, so I had to find my own way. And when I found it, it worked perfectly.

Little good _that_ did me. I’m the the Greatest Mage that’s ever lived, the hero of the magickal world, and I’m _completely miserable_. And Baz Pitch – the vampire, the villain, the bane of my existence – is happy and carefree.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

I’m the hero. I defeated the Humdrum. (Even if the Humdrum happened to be _me_.) _I_ should be getting a happy ending, not the villain. (And an unsuccessful villain at that. I mean, I’m still alive, right?)

This is wrong. Everything’s so wrong and I can’t stop the tears from falling.

My shoulders are heaving as sobs break through my throat and I’m so drowned in my misery that I don’t hear the voice calling my name until their hand is on my shoulder.

I whirl around and come face to face with a surprised Baz. The rain is falling heavily on him, soaking his black suit and making his hair stick to his forehead.

“Baz,” I breathe.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Snow.” He frowns. “What the fuck are you doing in the rain?”

I snort as I wipe my eyes. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Having a mental breakdown.”

I snort again and shake my head. “Fine!” I yell, throwing my hands up in the air. “I’m having a mental breakdown. I, Simon Snow, the Mage’s Heir, the Chosen One and the Greatest Mage, am an emotional wreck. Happy now?”

Baz shrugs nonchalantly. “Why would I be happy that you’re an emotional wreck?”

“Because you’re Baz Pitch! Because you live to make my life miserable!”

He smirks at me. “Aren’t you conceited. You know, my life doesn’t actually revolve around you.”

I laugh bitterly and run my hands through my hair. “I suppose I’m not even worth your hatred anymore, is that it?”

He scowls, his mirth gone. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

I deflate, my shoulders slumping in on myself like the fight has drained out of me. “Everything.” It’s nothing more than a broken whisper.

He looks at me with surprise for a few moments, and then something else flashes in his eyes. Something softer, warmer. _Sympathy_.

“Don’t!” I shout and step away from him.

He blinks, his eyelashes laced with small raindrops that glint like diamonds. “What?”

“Don’t you dare take pity on me!” I bury my face in my hands. I managed to make Baz Pitch pity me. I think we can all agree that that’s hitting rock bottom. I’m utterly pathetic.

“Snow.” His voice is gentle, soothing. I feel a cold hand on my shoulder again.

“Don’t,” I say again, but it’s weak and broken by sobs. Before I know it, I’m wrapped in his arms, crying on his soaked shirt. I don’t try to fight him off. I just hold on to him until my sobbing dies down. It takes a long time, but eventually I stop crying and raise my head from his chest. His eyes are unreadable when they meet mine.

“Better?” he asks softly and all I can do is nod. He nods back. “Want to get out of here?”

I scrunch up my forehead. “But the party? Agatha?”

He arches a perfect eyebrow. “Are you in a position to go back inside and be Watford’s poster boy?”

I look at the ground. “No.”

“Exactly. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to Wellbelove.”

He turns to go back inside but I stop him. “Baz?”

“Yes?”

I take a deep breath. “You look- You look good. I mean, happy. That’s- You know. Good.”

The corner of his lips curves in a half-smile and then he’s gone.

**BAZ**

As I head back inside the house, I’m thinking about what he said to me.

The truth is that he’s right. I _am_ happy.

It’s not what anyone would have expected. (It’s not what _I_ expected.) The Families lost the war without a single battle. The Mage is still reigning over the world of mages and my family is still on the sidelines. But I found that I don’t give a single fuck.

Honestly, I couldn’t care less who’s head of the Coven. I used to, but not anymore. Going to America and leaving all this shit behind was the best fucking decision of my life. (The second was dropping out of college and focusing solely on my music.)

My father didn’t agree with either of those decisions, but I don’t care. Don’t get me wrong, I still love him. He’s still my family. But all the pressure to live up to my family’s name and to get involved in the politics of the magickal world, together with my self-loathing for being queer and a vampire ( _and_ in love with my nemesis), almost broke me. My last months at Watford were hell. I was so tired and so depressed that even Snow noticed. (Yes, Snow – the least observant person on the planet – _noticed_.)

So I said, fuck it all. I’m not going to live for anyone else but me. When the summer was over, I left England and didn’t look back. I struggled with Economics for a year, then I decided that it wasn’t worth my time. I joined a band. I wrote music. I partied and dated and lived like any twenty year old is supposed to – like there’s no tomorrow.

And now I can truthfully say that, yes, I am happy. Because finally I’m _free_.

That’s not to say that there aren’t any periods that I get depressed again. There are times that I still hate myself for not living up to my family’s expectations. For being a blood-sucking freak. For still being very much in love with my ex-roommate, even though I hadn’t seen him for two whole years. Even though I’ve dated many other men in the meantime. I never really got over him.

When I heard about his engagement with Wellbelove from Daphne, I was crushed. I was a mess for a whole month. I cried. I got drunk. I locked myself in my room, blasting out the angriest and saddest songs I owned. If it weren’t for my music and for my friends from the band, I would have probably reverted back to my old depressive, self-loathing, self-destructive ways.

But as it was, I managed to pick up the pieces and accept my new reality. Snow would never be mine. I always knew that, and I had started to make my peace with it.

Which is why I’m here today – why I succumbed to Daphne’s pleas to visit England, and then to accompany my family to this party – a party that Simon Snow and Agatha Wellbelove were bound to attend. I was planning on approaching them at some point tonight – congratulating them on their engagement and wishing them happiness. This was supposed to be a final goodbye. It was supposed to bring me closure somehow.

That was why I followed Snow out in the rain. I just wanted to wish him happiness. But how could I, when Snow looked so broken? And worse, how could I wish him happiness, when the sight of him being so miserable made me feel some sort of twisted satisfaction? Sick, I _know_. But I can’t help the little spark of hope that lights up inside me in the knowledge that Snow isn’t _that_ happy with his happy ending with Wellbelove.

Speaking of whom, I spot her talking with her parents and walk over to them. Her eyes meet mine and they widen. “Basil!”

I smile graciously at her. “Wellbelove. Could I talk to you for a moment?”

Her face lights up. “Of course.” She follows me as I lead her away from prying ears. “I’m surprised to see you here,” she says when we stop walking. “I thought you were studying in America.”

“I’m just visiting. I leave next week.”

“Oh.” She looks a bit disappointed and I almost frown. (She realizes she’s engaged, doesn’t she?) She bites her lip. “You look… different.”

I raise an eyebrow. “In a good or a bad way?”

Wellbelove smiles coyly. “In a good way.”

“Thank you, then.”

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” She looks at me expectantly.

I clear my throat. “I wanted to talk to you about Snow.”

Her face falls a little. “Oh?”

“I found him outside. He told me to tell you that he’s not feeling really well and that he’s going to leave the party early.”

“Oh. That's... okay, I guess. It’s just- We came with the same car. But I suppose I could get a ride home with Penny or-”

“No, you don’t have to. I’ll drive him.”

She frowns. “You will?”

I smirk. “I promise I won’t murder your fiance.”

She giggles. “Alright then. I suppose I’ll see you around?”

“Sure. See you, Wellbelove,” I say and go to find Daphne to inform her that I’ll be leaving early.

**SIMON**

“Done,” says Baz as soon as he’s back outside.

I frown. “Seriously?”

He smirks. “Seriously. Now come on. My car’s this way.”

I follow him, still a little wary. “Why are you helping me?” I ask, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.

“So as to gain your trust and then finish you off when you let your guard down.” He catches my scowl and rolls his eyes. “I’m kidding, Snow. Why would I want to hurt you?”

“Because I’m the Mage’s Heir?”

He snorts. “I don’t care about politics.”

“Since when?”

He stops in front of an expensive car and cocks an eyebrow at me. “Since I realized that getting involved in them tends to turn you into a mess.” Then he looks at me from head to toe, as if to further prove his argument, before he opens the car door and gets inside.

I hesitate for a few seconds.

Is this a bad idea?

Yes.

Is this a trap?

Probably.

Will I regret this decision?

_Definitely._

But right now I’m feeling like making bad decisions. I like it that I don’t know what’s going on or what’s going to happen next. I like the adrenaline that rushes through my veins at the face of the unknown. I _want_ to do this. Even if it turns out that it’s a trap. Even if it turns out that it isn’t.

I open the door and sit on the passenger seat.

**BAZ**

I drive in silence. I want to ask him what’s wrong, why he’s so miserable, but he still looks like he’s on the verge of tears so I give him time to regain his composure. In the end it’s him who breaks the silence.

“Where are we going?”

“For a drink, I guess.” I shrug. “But first we’re making a stop at Fiona’s.”

“What? Why?” He sounds a little panicked and I can’t say I blame him. Fiona’s the only member of my family that hasn’t accepted the fact that the war is over. But she won’t be at home right now, so it’s probably safe.

“Because I don’t want any witnesses when I drain your blood.” I see his expression from the corner of my eyes and I laugh. “I’m joking, Snow. _Crowley_ , you’re easy.” He seems to relax at that. “I just need to change.”

He looks at my suit. I’ve already dried it with my wand but it’s still very wrinkly and I haven’t heard of any ironing spells.

“Why are you doing this for me?” he asks again.

I roll my eyes. “I think I’ve answered that question already.”

“No. You only told me why you don’t want to hurt me. That’s very different from wanting to help me.”

Fuck, Snow’s gotten smarter since the last time I saw him. And I can’t very much tell him the truth. I can’t tell him that he had always been my sun – bright, fiery hot and full of life – and now he’s just a dying star. Not exploding like a supernova, but dimming and fading until he’s no more. And it hurts more than it should.

“Because I know what it’s like to feel like everything’s wrong,” I say at last. It’s not technically a lie. I don’t want him to go through what I went through. I want him to be happy. I really do.

He seems to accept my answer. He probably still remembers how miserable I was our last year at Watford. “How did you… How did you get over it?”

I shrug. “I just said, fuck it all, and started over.”

“You mean you ran.”

I shrug again. (I’ve been doing that a lot lately. It’s a habit I picked up from Snow. It’s wonderful when you want to avoid answering a question.) “Call it whatever you want. It was a good decision and I don’t regret it at all.”

“So, you’re saying that that’s what I should do too? Run?” He sounds incredulous, like it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard of.

“Why not, Snow? What’s keeping you here?”

_Don’t say Wellbelove._

He sighs deeply. “I don’t know.”

“So?”

I see him shake his head from the corner of my eye. “Chosen Ones don’t run.”

I snort. “And that’s why they tend to die young. Honestly, Snow. You’ve got to start thinking of yourself and your own happiness. The world won’t stop spinning if you stop trying to save it.”

“That’s the thing, Baz!” he shouts, despair heavy in his voice. “It _will_! If I’m gone, the Mage won’t be able to control the Families. They’ll overthrow him.”

“So? Good riddance!”

I can feel his scowl directed at the side of my head. “I thought you didn’t care about politics.”

“I don’t.” _It’s_ you _I care about._ “But the man’s using you. He’s been using you since you were a child, for fuck’s sake! Why are you so loyal to him?”

“He took me in! He believed in me!”

I scoff. “Because of some stupid prophecy, Snow, not because he knew you! He doesn’t care about you, Simon. He only cares about your power. You’re just a weapon to him.”

“That’s not true.” His voice is thick with tears and I know he’s ready to cry.

“It’s not?” My voice is softer now. “Simon, has he ever asked you if you were happy? Did he ask you if you were scared when you were fighting the Humdrum? Did he ask you if you _want_ to take his place? Has he ever come to you for any other reason than the war with the Humdrum or the war with the Families?”

He doesn’t answer, but I hear his sobs. Broken and desolate. I hate the fact that I caused them, but he needs to see the truth. He needs to see that he doesn’t owe that man anything. That he has every right to pursue his own happiness without feeling guilty about it. No one else deserves it more.

**SIMON**

I want more than anything to tell him that he’s wrong. But I would be lying and I know it.

Deep down, I’ve always known that the Mage was just using me. But I pretended I didn’t. At first because I was a lonely, neglected and overlooked kid and he was the first person to show interest in me – the first to show me this magickal new world and tell me I’m special. Then, after I made friends and started feeling like I belonged, I continued pretending because he was my only strong ally among dozens of dangerous enemies. And after I defeated the Humdrum and got my power under control, I still pretended simply because it was easy. Because every goddamn decision I made in my entire life was driven by the belief that the Mage had my best interests in my mind, as well as the magickal world’s. So, admitting that that wasn’t true, would be admitting that my entire life was a waste.

But I don’t have the strength to pretend any longer. So I just cry and stare out of the window, even though I can’t see a thing past the raindrops that stain the glass.

Baz doesn’t say anything else. He just turns on the radio and hums along. It’s a fucking depressing song and I want to tell him to turn it off, but then he starts singing and I shut up. He’s just quietly murmuring the lyrics, but his deep and smooth voice sends goosebumps up my spine and makes the hairs on my arms rise. So I close my eyes and let his voice fill my brain and chase every other thought away.

Not long after the song’s ended, Baz parks in front of a building. He glances at me, looking concerned. “Alright?” he asks softly.

I shrug. I’ve stopped crying – the anger and the sadness has seeped out of me and now I just feel tired. ( _So_ fucking tired.) The only reason I don’t tell Baz to drive me home so I can collapse on my bed ( _our_ bed) and sleep away my sorrows is my curiosity. I want to know how he managed to change so much in two years. I want to know just _how much_ he changed. I just... I want to know.

We get out in the rain and head towards the building. “Why are you staying at Fiona’s, anyway?” I ask him.

“Well, you see my father doesn’t approve some of my life choices,” he says vaguely as we enter the building and start climbing up the stairs.

“You mean going to America?”

“I mean going to America, dropping out of college, joining a gothic rock band, dating blokes… Just to name a few.”

I trip and almost fall down the stairs. _“What?”_

Baz turns and cocks an eyebrow at me. “Surprised?”

“You-” I shake my head. “You’re _gay_?”

He rolls his eyes and continues going up the stairs. “That’s what weirded you out?”

He’s right, of course. He just said that he _dropped out of college_ ( _Baz_ – who wouldn’t miss a lesson even if he was on his deathbed) and that he _joined a fucking goth band_ (there’s _got_ to be a vampire joke somewhere in there). But it was the fact that he’s _dating blokes_ that got my attention.

But… I’ve been his roommate for _eight fucking years_. How is it possible that I didn’t know he’s gay?

Though, now that I think about it, I should have probably suspected something. He was one of the most handsome boys in school (objectively speaking) and he hadn’t dated a single girl. He hadn’t even shown any interest to any girl in school. Except…

“Wait a moment!” I exclaim when we reach the door. He stops fumbling with the keys and looks at me with an arched eyebrow. “If you’re gay, then why were you flirting with Agatha?”

He shrugs. (He’s been doing that a lot. It’s weird. It makes him look more… _laid-back_. Which is weird. The Baz I remember isn’t _laid-back_.) “I just did it to get on your nerves. I wasn’t really interested in her.”

I should be mad. He played with her feelings _and_ with mine. But I can’t bring myself to care at the moment. That was years ago, and anyway he looks like he’s done a lot of growing up since then.

He opens the door and we enter the apartment.

“Do you want to change too?” he asks, taking off his coat.

“Why? My suit didn’t get wet.”

“Well, you would look a bit out of place if you went for a drink in a suit.”

I scratch the back of my head. “I suppose. Can I borrow something of yours?”

“Sure. Let me find something.”

He goes to a room at the other side of the living room and I follow him. He opens a closet and starts searching. A minute later he hands me a white shirt and dark blue jeans. “You can change here. I’ll go change in the bathroom.”

He disappears into the bathroom holding a simple black T-shirt and dark jeans and I start taking off my suit. Then I put on the clothes he gave me. The shirt’s sleeves and the pants are a little long (he’s still taller that me), but I roll them up a few times and I hope I look only a little ridiculous. I check my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are bloodshot and my face is all red and puffy from crying. I look like shit.

Baz takes a little longer to get ready, but when the door opens and he steps in the room my, breath catches.

“Baz! You-” I swallow. “You’re wearing jeans.”

He snorts. “Seriously? _That’s_ what you find strange about my appearance?”

Once again, he’s right. The jeans are probably the least surprising thing from his outfit. If I wanted to comment on something, I could have mentioned the piercings (two on one ear, one on the other, two on his right eyebrow), or the eyeliner, or the intimidating combat boots. But I’ve never seen him wear jeans before and they look… nice. I mean _really_ nice. They fit him perfectly, hugging his legs and his behind without being too tight. But then Baz raises an eyebrow at me and I realize that I probably _shouldn’t_ be staring at his behind.

“ _Anyway_ ,” he says slowly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Are you ready?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“Let’s go, then,” he says and leads me out off the apartment.


	2. Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I had been preoccupied with other projects and hadn't found the time to work on this fic much. Unfortunately, the next chapter might take even longer because I'm still horribly stuck... Sorry :(

**SIMON**

It’s stopped raining when we leave Fiona’s building. I start walking towards Baz’s car, but he catches my arm. “What?”

He just gives me a lop-sided grin and then leads me to another vehicle.

My mouth drops open. “You’re riding a motorcycle?”

He laughs at my expression. (I still can’t get used to his new laugh. It isn’t a chortle, or a chuckle, or a snort. It’s loud, open and carefree. It’s nice and it almost makes me smile.) “I guess I’m full of surprises.”

I snort. “That’s an understatement.”

He climbs gracefully on the huge, black, intimidating (and insanely _cool_ ) monstrosity and puts his hands on the handles. “Are you coming?”

I climb on the motorcycle as well, though with a lot less grace and I almost fall over the other side. I grab Baz’s shoulders at the last second.

Baz laughs. “Ready?”

I gulp. I’ve never been on a motorcycle before. “Yeah.”

“Alright then.”

The bike roars into life as soon as the engine starts and I only barely have time to grab Baz by his hips before he sends it flying on the pavement.

And I do mean flying. We’re going so fast the tires are barely touching the ground. My heart feels like it’s left my chest and my stomach’s in my throat. “I think you’re exceeding the speed limit a little!” I yell above the roar of the wind, clutching onto him tighter.

“Vampire reflexes. Don’t worry.”

It’s not very reassuring and I kind of wish I had a helmet right now. (When did Baz become so irresponsible?)

But soon I start to enjoy the speed. It makes me feel weightless and free. The wind’s roaring in my ears and blowing through my curls and there’s this scary but also unbelievably exhilarating feeling in my gut, like the one you get when you’re falling. I feel like I’m flying. (I’ve flown before, so I know what I’m talking about.) For the first time in forever, I feel _alive_.

Baz’s hair is whipping at my face, so I rest my head on his shoulder to avoid it. Somehow the proximity makes the thrilling sensation in my stomach even more overwhelming and I feel like I’m going to burst from all the adrenaline.

“Alright?” I hear Baz’s voice.

“Fucking fantastic!” I yell back and I don’t hear his laugh as much as feel it under my arms that are now wrapped tightly around him. I can’t help but laugh too, in a way I haven’t in a very long time. Loudly. Openly. Without a single care in the world.

I wish we could ride like this forever. I wish we could ride far away from here and never look back.

I just. Wish.

**BAZ**

Okay, I’ll admit it. I decided to take the motorcycle because I wanted Snow to hold me. I’m such a goner.

This feels amazing. Adrenaline is surging through my veins and I feel alive and free. Snow is holding on to me for dear life, laughing and screaming, and feeling his warm body pressed against my back makes me feel like I’m going to combust from excitement.

This feels so good that I don’t ever want to stop. I just want to keep riding until we hit a dead end or until we’re so far away from everything that bothers him that it can’t hurt him anymore. But I can’t. He only agreed to come with me for a drink and, despite my reputation, I’m not about to kidnap the Chosen One.

Eventually, I stop in front of a pub. Snow slowly lets go of me and I gracefully slip off the bike. Snow almost falls down as he’s shakily climbing off the bike as well.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, a little concerned. Maybe I scared him off with my crazy driving.

He laughs breathily. “Yeah. It’s just… the adrenaline.” He’s still shaking, but he’s grinning at me and his eyes are so alive. _Crowley_ , I want to kiss him.

“Come on,” I say instead. “Let’s go get a drink.”

**SIMON**

“So,” I say after we’re settled at the bar and I take a sip from my beer. “You’re gay.”

He rolls his eyes. “You seem oddly fixated on that, Snow. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you have a problem with queer people.”

My face turns red. “I don’t!” I say vehemently. “I’m just... surprised. We lived together for eight years and I never suspected a thing!”

He snorts. “That’s not very surprising. You’re not particularly observant.”

I punch his arm. “Am too! I figured out you’re a vampire, didn’t I?”

He shrugs. “Then I guess you’re observant only when it’s about me being an evil monster. Unfortunately, being queer doesn’t make me a monster.”

“Oh, shut up.” I pass my beer bottle from one hand to the other. “So… Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Oh. But do you have your eye on someone?”

He takes a sip from his drink. “Maybe.”

“Oh,” I say again. I bite my lip, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable. I guess it makes sense. Who would have thought that one day I’d share a drink with Baz Pitch and talk about his love life? “Does he feel the same way?”

He smiles wryly. “Nope.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s straight, Snow. Not to mention taken.”

“Oh,” I say and from the way he cocks his eyebrow at me I know he’s amazed by my eloquence. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. “Don’t be. I’m used to it.”

I nod, feeling awkward. “So…” I say, trying to think of a different subject and smirk when I find one. “You’re in a gothic band now, huh?”

He grins. “Yes.”

I chuckle. “Merlin and Morgana, I never thought I’d see the day Baz Pitch would be in a rock band. Don’t tell me you sing, too?” I say, thinking back to when we were in his car and he was singing along with the radio.

“I do some vocals from time to time. Mostly I just play the violin. And write songs, of course.”

I frown. “The violin? That doesn’t sound like something that would go well with gothic rock.”

Baz smirks. “You’d be surprised what a talented player and composer can do.”

I laugh. “Actually, I’d love to see what you can do, Baz.” He cocks an amused eyebrow at me and I realize that that might have sounded like an innuendo. I blush. “I- I mean your songs. I’d love to hear your songs.”

He laughs at how flustered I look right now. “You can find us on YouTube.”

“What’s your band called?” I ask and empty my beer in one go.

Baz bites his lip and looks a little embarrassed. “Pitch Black,” he mutters.

I splutter. “ _Pitch Black_? Seriously?”

He shrugs, but he still looks a bit sheepish. “It’s catchy.”

“It’s ridiculous, that’s what it is.” I can’t stop laughing.

“Oh, fuck off, Snow,” he says, peeved. But as he looks at me wheezing and clutching my stomach, he cracks up as well and then we’re both laughing to tears. _Merlin_ , this feels great. I can’t remember the last time I’ve laughed this much. I can’t believe that the person that makes me feel this way is Baz Pitch from all people. It’s fucking surreal.

“So,” I say when I can breathe again. “Are you going to become famous now, Baz Pitch?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Some of our covers on YouTube went viral and a record company got interested in our band. They want to see us in a couple of weeks.”

I smile at him. “That’s great, Baz,” I say and I’m surprised to realize that I mean it. 

“Thanks,” he smiles back and orders me more beer.

* * *

By the time Baz decides to become my life-coach (oh, the irony), I’m already a little tipsy. (Baz has stopped drinking after his first beer because he’s driving.)

“You need to figure out what you want to do in life,” he tells me.

I glare at him. “If it were that easy…”

He smirks. “Well, that’s why I’m here.” He flashes a flirtatious smile at the (cute) bartender. “Do you happen to have a pen?” he asks him.

The bartender returns the smile and I feel the sudden urge to punch him in the face. “Sure thing,” he says and gives him a black pen.

Baz takes a napkin and turns to me. “First of all, you need to figure out what you _don’t_ want in your life.”

“And then?”

“We’ll get to that later. Now tell me. What’s in your life that you’d rather discard?”

“Um…”

He sighs. “Snow, don’t overthink it. Just say the first thing that comes to mind.”

“I don’t want to succeed the Mage,” I blurt and then I feel ashamed. I should feel honored to be given this opportunity. My face turns red, but Baz just nods and writes it down on the napkin.

“What else?”

“I don’t want to study Political Science anymore,” is the next thing that stumbles out of my mouth. I’m not even sure where that came from. It must be the alcohol.

Baz writes that as well. “Go on.”

“I don’t want to be the Chosen One.” I grimace. “Well, I suppose I can’t help this one, can I?”

“Of course you can,” says Baz while continuing to scribble on the napkin. “You were born with these powers, but it’s your choice how you use them.”

“Oh,” is all I can say. I’m not sure I understood what he said. My brain is a little fuzzy.

“What else?”

“I don’t want to go to any more parties.”

He chuckles slightly. “Okay.”

“I don’t want to wear stupid suits.”

As he gets it down, I think I can hear him mutter something like, “Shame.”

“I don’t want to marry Agatha.”

He freezes, his hand hovering above the napkin. “What?”

I take a deep breath. “I don’t want to marry Agatha.”

Baz looks at me intensely for a few moments. Then he swallows. “Okay,” he says and writes that on the napkin as well. “Anything else?”

“I- I can’t think of something right now.”

“Alright.” He passes me the napkin and I put it in my pocket. “The first phase is complete. Next step, we figure out what you _want_.”

“How?”

He shrugs. “Brainstorming.”

“Huh?”

“Just say the first thing that pops into your head. Whatever sounds good to you.”

“What if it’s stupid?”

“It doesn’t matter. I thought joining a band was stupid. But then I tried it and it was the best decision I made in my entire life.”

“Wait – you tried _all_ the things you came up with while brainstorming?”

“Of course.” He smiles wistfully. “It was one hell of a month.”

“What did you do?” I ask, intrigued.

“Well, let’s see… I tried extreme sports – that was bloody _terrifying_. Hmm… I took a few flying lessons. That’s when I realized I was afraid of heights.” I laugh at that. “I attended a few linguistics lectures. It was quite interesting. I might even give it a shot in the future.”

“That’s cool,” I say. “But I don’t see anything stupid on this list.”

He arches an eyebrow, which looks even more impressive now that he has piercings. “I also tried ballet.”

I choke on my drink. “Ballet?” I start giggling. “Did you just say _ballet_?”

He grins at me. “You wanted stupid.”

“That’s- That’s actually not that stupid.” I mean it. He’s always so graceful that it’s not very hard to picture him dancing and twirling on the tips of his toes.

Baz snorts. “Believe me, it was a very stupid idea. My feet will never be the same again.”

I laugh. “Okay, I believe you. So now you expect me to try every stupid thing that pops into my head?”

He shrugs. “If you want to be happy. How will you know what you like unless you try it?”

“Won’t I just… _know_? Like, as soon as I say it, won’t I know that _that_ is the answer? The thing I’m meant to do?”

He scoffs. “Maybe. But it isn’t very likely.”

I sigh. “Fine. Let’s do it your way.”

“Okay,” he says and grabs another napkin. “Go.”

I wasn’t ready, and I was still preoccupied with picturing Baz dancing ballet, so, predictably, I blurt something stupid. “Figure-skating!”

Baz almost chokes. “Okay, that’s _definitely_ not a recipe for disaster.” I blush furiously. “Next.”

“Football!”

“Hmm… Go on.”

“Cake-baking!” I pause. Actually, that sounds nice.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Are you sure you don’t mean cake- _eating_?”

“Oh, fuck off.”

He chuckles. “Okay. Anything else?”

“Um, being a goat-herd?”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re weird, Snow.”

I laugh. “You’re one to talk, prima ballerina.”

Baz laughs as well. “Fair enough.” He looks at his napkin. “Okay, one more thing to resolve.”

“What?”

“The Agatha thing.”

“Oh.” I scratch the back of my neck nervously.

“If you don’t want to marry Agatha, then is there someone else you want?”

I frown. “To marry?”

He snorts. “Let’s start with who you want to snog first. We’ll arrange the wedding later.”

I bite my lip. “I’m not really interested in anyone else at the moment.”

“We’re still brainstorming, Snow. Just say the names of people you find attractive. You can start with celebrities if you want.”

“You want me to try to snog celebrities?”

“Well, if you get the chance, sure. I suggested it more as a warm-up. To ease yourself into it.”

“Oh, okay.”

“So, who do you think is snog-able?”

“Emma Watson,” I say immediately.

“Okay, predictable,” he says as he writes on the napkin.

“Jennifer Lawrence.”

“Predictable.”

“Billie Piper.”

“Not so predictable, but okay.”

“Orlando Bloom.”

His head snaps up to meet my gaze. “What?”

“What?” I say as well, just as surprised as he is at the words that came out of my mouth. I don’t know why I said that. I mean, I’m not gay. (I think.) It must be the alcohol. Though, to be honest, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’d mind snogging Orlando Bloom. (Maybe I _am_ a little gay?)

Baz shakes his head, as if to clear it. “Well, _that_ was surprising,” he says lightly, but he still looks a bit tense. “Now, any people that aren’t celebrities?”

“I- Um-” I can’t really think right now. My mind’s gone a little blank at the moment. Could I be gay? Or, I don’t know, bi? Pan? It’s never crossed my mind before because I was always destined to marry Agatha, but the alcohol, as well as the declaration that I don’t want to marry her, opens up new possibilities in my head. It’s scary and dizzying and exhilarating at the same time. It tastes a little bit like freedom.

Except, I’m not free. All of this – what I want, what I don’t want – is of no consequence. I’m not brave – or selfish – enough to pursue any of these silly dreams. If I had something solid – a definite answer to the question of what I want – then maybe… maybe I’d risk it. If it was worth it. But I can’t just toss all my life away and take a leap of faith. The old Simon – the one at Watford, who jumped mindlessly in front of danger – might have done it. Not me.

“Simon?” Baz’s voice is as soft as it was a few hours ago, when he found me crying in the rain. “Are you okay?”

“I-” I swallow the tears that are prickling behind my eyes. “Yeah, I- I’m fine.”

He continues to look at me with concern written all over his face. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

He calls the bartender to pay for our drinks and my heart sinks. Well, he was bound to get tired of my moping at some point. I just hoped that it wouldn’t be so soon. Because, crazily enough, I was enjoying spending time with him. This is the most fun I had in a long time. (How sad is that?) And I got to tell him stuff I’ve never shared with anyone before. (Not even Penny. She’s already worrying enough about me because she’s an ocean away. I didn’t want to burden her even more with my misery.)

But, most importantly, he _surprised_ me. Time and time again. With his motorcycle, his eyeliner, his jeans, his piercings, his gothic band… His queerness… And with his laugh. His smile. His _change_.

I can’t even remember the last time anything surprised me. Everything in my life was planned-out ahead these last couple of years.

A nudge on my shoulder snaps me out of my thoughts. Baz has already stood from his stool and he’s waiting for me with a raised eyebrow. “Oh,” I say, embarrassed, and I reluctantly slide off the stool. “Sorry.”

When we’re outside, he bumps my shoulder. “Hey. Don’t look so glum. The most fun part of the night is ahead of us.”

I frown, confused. “Sleeping?”

He snorts. “We’re not sleeping tonight, Snow.”

“Then what will we be doing?”

Baz smirks at me as he climbs on his bike. “We’re going dancing.”

* * *

 This time Baz drives a little slower, but I still hold onto him tightly. Not so much because I’m afraid, but because it feels nice. It feels like breaking the rules, like defying the whole world that wanted us to be enemies and kill each other. It feels like freedom.

And maybe because I’m a little drunk and I can’t seem to remember why we were supposed to be enemies in the first place. Especially when he smells so nice… His scent is different than before. I can’t catch a single trace of his posh soap that smelled like cedar and bergamot. Now he smells like aftershave and expensive cologne. I like it.

“Snow, will you stop sniffing me?” Baz shouts over the wind.

I blush crimson. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I was doing it.”

He laughs. “You’re already drunk, aren’t you.”

“Am not!”

“Snow, you’re still sniffing me.”

My face turns an even more violent shade of red and I giggle. “Okay, maybe I am a _little_ drunk.”

He laughs again. “You don’t say.”

“What cologne are you wearing?”

I can practically _hear_ his eyeroll, over the roar of the motorbike and the wind. “ _Boss_. Now stop being a creep.”

Not trusting the words that come out of my mouth, I decide to stop talking for the rest of the ride.

When we get there, Baz helps me off the bike because I’m a little tipsy. As it is, I almost fall and drag Baz down with me. Thankfully, he manages to keep us both upright.

He chuckles as he puts his hands on my shoulders to steady me. “You’re a bloody mess, Simon Snow.”

I think maybe I’m pouting because Baz laughs again and there’s warmth in his eyes as he’s gazing at me. It makes me feel a little warm myself. (Or maybe that’s the alcohol.) “Come on,” he says and tilts his head towards the entrance of a nightclub. “Let’s go inside.”

**BAZ**

Snow orders one drink after the other, so, naturally, he’s pretty pissed by now. I thought of maybe trying to stop him from overdoing it, but the poor guy seems like he needs to unwind a little. (Even at the cost of one hell of a hangover.) I’m wondering when was the last time he partied a little. Judging by his extremely low tolerance of alcohol, I’d say it’s been a while, if ever.

I’ve never seen Snow drunk before. Apparently, he turns into a giggling mess when he drinks. And _very_ affectionate. He keeps ruffling my hair and pecking my cheek and telling me how cute I am when I blush. (I drank quite a lot of blood before I attended the party. I wouldn’t have if I’d known that I’d be getting kissed by _Simon_ bloody _Snow_.)

At some point, the bartender passes us both drinks we didn’t order. “It’s from the girls over there,” she says, pointing at two beautiful girls sitting at the other end of the bar, smiling at me and Snow. I nod and smile at them and they start giggling. Snow doesn’t even look at the girls. He just drains the drink like he did with all the others.

A few minutes later, the two girls approach us. “Hi.”

I flash them a smile. “Hello, girls. How can we help you?”

“We were wondering if you wanted to dance with us,” says one of them, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously.

“Sorry, girls,” I say politely. “Not that you aren’t attractive, but unfortunately I play for the other team.”

“Oh,” says the girl, disappointed. “And I guess he’s your boyfriend?” She points at Snow.

“Um, actually-”

“Yes,” Snow pipes up and gives me another kiss on the cheek, making blood rush to my face again. “I’m his boyfriend and I get _really_ jealous when others flirt with him.” He starts giggling and I try to ignore the warmth spreading in my stomach at his words. (Crowley. If only.)

“Aww,” said the other girl. “You two are _so_ cute.”

“Um, thanks,” I say, my cheeks still flushed.

“We’ll leave you to it then,” says the first girl, winking at us, before she and her friend leave.

I turn and cock an eyebrow at Snow, though I suppose my colored cheeks should make me look a lot less intimidating. “Really, Snow?”

He giggles. “Sorry. You just look _so cute_ when you’re flustered. I couldn’t resist.”

I roll my eyes. “Seriously.”

Snow grabs my hand. “Let’s go dance!” he says excitedly.

“Snow, you can’t dance at the best of times. I’m pretty sure you won’t be any more coordinated when you’re pissed.”

“Come on!” he pouts, yanking at my hand. “Please?” His blue eyes are wide and pleading and, of course, I can’t say no to him when he’s looking at me like that.

I sigh. “Fine. You aren’t going to remember the humiliation by tomorrow anyway.”

His face lights up and he slips (almost falls) from the stool to the floor and drags me towards the dance floor.

**SIMON**

Baz is a pretty good dancer. Of course, I already knew that. I’ve seen him dance many times back at Watford during school dances. (Usually with Agatha, after having cut in on us just to piss me off. The tosser.) But I’ve never seen him dance like this before. In the past, his moves were graceful but they looked practiced and controlled. Now he looks looser, like he’s letting the beat guide his movements and not his brain. His eyes are closed and his hair is whipping around him like they’re a separate entity all by themselves and he looks like he’s letting the loud music wash over him, washing away all of his troubles.

Gradually, the loud electronic music reaches its climax and the colorful lights start swirling even faster, making me feel dizzy but in a good way. (Can you be dizzy in a good way?) Now I only catch glimpses of Baz every time the blinding lights hit him. And every time his face flashes in front of me (his sculpted features, his thin lips, his closed eyelids with the ridiculously long eyelashes) all I can think about is how beautiful he is right now. He’s always been ridiculously handsome but now that he looks happier and less haunted, it’s like he’s radiating beauty.

I’m not sure how, but I find myself inching even closer to him – so close that I can feel the muscles at his stomach tighten in surprise. The lights once again flash on his face and I only catch a quick glimpse of his now open eyes, but the sight of them stays imprinted at the back of my retinas for a long time after his face disappears into the dark again. The eyeliner makes the grey pop out even more, making them even more magnetizing and drawing me even closer. I close my eyes as I lean in – it’s too dark to see, anyway, and this way I can focus on other things, like the scent of his cologne, or the feel of his hot breath brushing my lips, smelling of smoke and alcohol and making me want to taste it…

**BAZ**

My eyes widen in shock when I realize Snow is leaning a bit too close.

_He’s going to kiss me._

My heart is thudding in my chest and my brain feels like it’s about to shut down, but at the last moment I manage to get a grip and I put my palm on his chest, stopping him from getting closer.

_I can’t fucking believe I’m doing this._

I’m stopping Snow from kissing me. It’s like refusing water after years of wandering in a desert. But I can’t let him kiss me. Not like this, when he’s drunk and delirious. Because tomorrow he might come to regret it and I wouldn’t be able to take it. Not after getting a taste of him. I’ve worked too damn hard to get my life together to let him mess me up again.

At first, Snow doesn’t seem to realize that there’s a hand on his chest and he’s still trying to lean closer to me. But after a few moments of trying and still not having touched my lips, he opens his eyes in confusion. For a few seconds he just stares at me without understanding what’s happening. Then his eyes slip lower to my palm that’s still resting on his chest and then back to my eyes and I see the understanding flash on his face. He takes an unsteady step back, his eyes wide.

“I-” He trips on someone else’s foot and almost falls but somehow manages to stay upright. “I’m sorry. I didn’t- I wasn’t-”

He looks guilty and confused and hurt and I can’t take it. I pull him into my arms. “Hey,” I say softly, hoping he can hear me over the loud music. “It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, Baz.” His voice is quiet and muffled by my shirt, but I manage to hear it with my vampire senses. “I didn’t- I don’t know what I was-”

“It’s okay, Simon. You’re drunk, I’m not going to hold it against you.” I push him away a little. “Do you want to go?”

He nods, his eyes downcast.

“Come on. Let’s get our coats and get out of here.”

* * *

 I can’t take Snow back to his house on my motorcycle. He’s so drunk he’ll probably fall off. So I call a taxi for him.

Snow throws up in a bin as we’re waiting for the taxi. I hold his forehead and rub his back while he retches, like my mum used to when I was a kid and I got sick. (I haven’t gotten sick once since I turned.) When he’s done, he’s too weak to stand on his own so he leans heavily against me.

“How are you feeling?” I ask him.

“Perfect,” he mumbles, wiping his mouth with my handkerchief (which I then dispose).

“Just a little patience. You’ll be back in your bed in no time.”

His head snaps up. “I don’t want to go home. Please don’t make me.”

I blink, surprised. “Wellbelove will be worried.”

Snow groans. “No, she won’t. She doesn’t love me.”

I can’t argue with that. “That doesn’t mean she doesn’t care about you.”

His eyes are pleading. “Please, Baz, I don’t want to go back there. _Please_.”

 _Fuck._ I have to learn how to say no to him when he’s pulling the puppy-dog-eye look at me.

When the taxi arrives, I help Snow inside and I join him at the backseat after giving the driver Fiona’s address. During the ride, Snow falls asleep with his head on my shoulder. I don’t push him away.

I take out my mobile phone and dial Fiona’s number. She takes a while to answer and when she does there’s loud rock music blaring at the background. I roll my eyes. Fiona parties even more than I do and that’s saying something.

“Basil?” she says loudly so that she can be heard over the noise.

“Hey, Fiona,” I say in my most charming voice. “How’s my favorite aunt doing?”

I can practically hear her eyes rolling. “First of all, I’m your _only_ aunt. Second, what do you want now?”

I chuckle. “Could you spend the night at your boyfriend’s house?”

“Are you bringing a boy home?” Her voice is all too knowing.

I briefly glance at Snow, who’s currently drooling on my shirt, and I grin. “Something like that.”

She sighs. “Fine, you brat. But only because you’ll be gone in a week and I’ll get back my peace and quiet.”

I roll my eyes. “You hate peace and quiet, Fiona.”

“Stop being a smartass, kid.”

“Admit it. You missed me.”

Fiona huffs. “As if.”

I hang up, still chuckling softly. _Crowley_ , I missed that woman.

Then I reach towards Snow’s (my) jeans (not like that, you pervs) and I feel his pockets for his phone. It’s not there. I roll my eyes. That idiot left his things in the pockets of his suit. _Including_ his wand. Some things never change.

When we arrive, I nudge Snow. He mumbles sleepily (something about scones) but doesn’t wake up. I roll my eyes and smack his head. He starts, disoriented, and still very much drunk. “Wha-”

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. We’re here.”

He looks outside the window, eyes unfocused. “Where?”

I roll my eyes again. I take out my wallet and pay the driver before I exit the taxi, dragging Snow with me. He almost falls face-first on the sidewalk but I catch him and throw his arm over my shoulders.

I practically carry him to Fiona’s apartment. Even with my vampire strength and stamina I am a little out of breath when I finally lay him down on my bed. I briefly consider undressing him, but I decide I’m not _that_ masochistic. So I just pull the covers over him and tuck him in while he groans dizzily.

“The room is spinning,” he slurs. “Why is it spinning?”

“Because you’re drunk?” I suggest.

He starts to nod seriously, but winces immediately, as the motion only makes his dizziness worse. “That must be it.” He smiles sleepily. “You’re so smart.”

I huff. “Compared to you? Sure.”

“No, you are. You always know _everything_. It’s really sexy.”

Fuck. More blushing. Thank Merlin he’s too drunk to notice. “Thanks. Now go to sleep.”

He groans. “I don’t want to sleep.”

“ _Sleep_ , Snow. You’ll feel better in the morning.” A blatant lie, but I doubt he has the brain capacity right now to work it out.

Snow sits up and folds his arms in front of his chest stubbornly. “No.”

I heave a long-suffering sigh. “Why not?”

“I want you to kiss me good-night first.”

Aleister Crowley. This boy is going to kill me.

“Fine.” I lean in and Snow’s face lights up before he closes his eyes. But then my lips connect with his forehead and he scowls.

“That wasn’t a real kiss!” he says petulantly.

“Yes, it was.”

“No! I want a _real_ kiss. Or I won’t sleep. _At all_.”

I sigh again. “Simon.”

He firmly shakes his head. “Nope. Not listening.”

“You’re acting like a five year old.”

“Five year olds don’t kiss.”

“Simon.”

“Baz.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Kiss me.”

I groan. I sit on the bed next to him and he looks at me expectantly, eyes alight with excitement and anticipation. It’s so unfair. I’ve wanted him to look at me like that _for years_ and now that he does I can’t actually kiss him. It’s bloody _torture_.

I put my hand on his cheek, my thumb gently caressing his cheekbone. “Simon,” I say softly.

Snow leans into my hand and closes his eyes. “Yes?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you.”

“Well, why don’t you then?” he whines.

“I will. I will kiss you in the morning, when you’re sober. If you still want to, of course.”

His eyes open and he looks at me, horrified. “Of course I’ll want to!”

“Then I’ll kiss you tomorrow.”

He pouts a little, but eventually he sighs and turns his head a little to press a kiss in my palm that’s still resting on his cheek. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart. Now lie down and sleep, okay?”

“Okay.” He falls back on the pillows and closes his eyes. I move to stand up, but Snow’s voice interrupts me. “Baz?”

I take a deep breath. “Yes?”

“Will you play me something? On your violin?”

I rub my eyes tiredly. “Will you sleep if I do?”

He nods. “Will you sing, too? I like your voice.”

I sigh deeply. “Okay.”

I stand up and pick up my violin case. As I unzip it, I think about which song to play him. Most of the songs I’ve written are about him and I doubt that even _he_ can remain oblivious after he hears me singing longingly about blue eyes and hair as golden as the sun.

When I finally take the violin in my hands and position it under my chin, I decide I’ll play him something a little safer. There was this song I wrote after I dropped out of college. It was about freedom and the fear and exhilaration that come with it. It’s about leaving the past behind you and pursuing a new future, a scary but hopeful one, full of possibilities and successes and failures.

It’s something Simon needs to hear. Something he needs to understand before it’s too late, or he’s going to end up wasting his whole life.

I take the bow and I start playing. The beginning is a little dark, the fast and urgent strokes of the bow combined with the words that come out of my mouth conveying the feeling of hopelessness and despair of someone who’s chained down to a reality they hate. But slowly the music turns smoother and more uplifting, the words more hopeful, signaling the breaking of the chains and the newfound freedom of taking your life in your own hands. This part is followed by a few ups and downs that portray the times I fell and got back to my feet, and then the song ends with an uncertain but optimistic note.

I put the bow down and look at Snow. He looks less sleepy than ever. His eyes are wide open and his mouth is hanging agape, staring at me in awe.

“That was…” Apparently, his drunk brain can’t find the right word to describe my playing. In the end he just smiles in that way that lights up the whole room. “I really want to kiss you now.”

I smile back at him. “In the morning. I promised, didn’t I?”

His face falls a little but he nods. “In the morning.”

I put the violin back in its case. “Now go to sleep.”

“Yes, mum.” He yawns widely. “’Night, Baz.”

“Goodnight, Simon. Sweet dreams.”

He’s already asleep before I even finish the sentence – the alcohol has completely knocked him out. I smile faintly before I go over to the chair where Snow had left his suit when he changed earlier. I find his phone in the pocket of his pants. There are three unanswered calls and two texts sent by Wellbelove.

_(23:58) Are you still alive?_

_(01:34) …Simon?_

I send her a reply.

_(03:27) Hey, Wellbelove, this is Baz. Simon is a little drunk, so I let him stay at my place. Is that okay with you?_

Five minutes later Snow’s phone buzzes.

_(03:33) …Sure._

_(03:33) Are you sure you haven’t murdered him?_

I roll my eyes. I take a photo of Snow drooling on my pillow and send it to her.

_(03:35) Okay, I believe you. Night, Baz :)_

_(03:36) Good night, Wellbelove._


	3. Disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, finally finished this chapter! Sorry it took forever guys, I just didn't have any inspiration for this fic for so long. I'm just glad I got it done at all, haha
> 
> As for when the next update will be... It will probably take a little while too. I really want to finish this fic, but it's been difficult, so...

**BAZ**

When I wake up in the morning, Fiona is looming over me with her arms crossed, looking quite intimidating.

Fuck.

“Care to explain why the Chosen One is in my flat?”

I sit up slowly on Fiona’s couch, rubbing the back of my stiff neck. “Why aren’t you at your boyfriend’s place?”

She raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Don’t change the subject, Basil.”

I blink innocently. “I would never do such a thing.”

Fiona rolls her eyes. “Jesus Christ, Baz, from all the blokes you could have picked, you chose to shag Simon Snow?”

“I didn’t _shag_ him.” I try and fail to conceal the disappointment in my voice. “He just got pissed last night and I let him crash here. It’s no big deal.”

She doesn’t look reassured by my explanation. “Why were you drinking with the Mage’s Heir in the first place?”

I shrug. “Why not?”

Fiona continues to stare at me and I know she has seen through me. She sighs and sits on the couch by my feet. “You _wanted_ to shag him?”

“Maybe.”

She shakes her head. “Your taste in men is even worse than mine, Basil.”

I grin. “True.”

“Isn’t he straight?”

“Tragically.”

“And engaged to that Wellbelove girl?”

“Ugh.”

Fiona crosses her arms as she assesses me. “How long have you fancied him?”

I sigh and rub my eyes. “A while.”

She shakes her head disdainfully. “Jesus Christ, Baz.”

“You said it.” I stand up. “Is he still asleep?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’m going out for a while.” I point a warning finger at her. “Don’t let him leave and don’t scare him away until I’m back.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

_“Fiona.”_

She sighs dramatically. “Fine.”

“And give him some of the hangover potion in your stash.”

_"Fine."_

"And tell him I've left him some clothes and a towel on the chair in my room in case he wants to have a shower."

“Got any more demands, little tyrant?”

“No, that will be all.” I kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Fiona.”

She rolls her eyes, but her lips are curving up in a smile. “Go, you insufferable brat.”

“Love you, too.”

**SIMON**

Predictably, I wake up with a hell of a hangover. As soon as I pry my eyelids open someone opens the curtains. The blinding morning light hurts my eyes and makes my head feel like it’s about to split in two, so I promptly close them again.

“Morning, Chosen One,” says a woman’s voice.

“Ughh,” is all that comes out of my dry mouth, which I admit isn’t very dignifying for the savior of the magickal world.

“Wake up, Chosen One, it’s almost noon.”

I groan again.

There’s a heavy sigh and then I hear the curtains close again. I open my eyes carefully and find myself in a pleasantly dark room. And looming right above me is no one other than Fiona Pitch, looking down at me disdainfully.

“Drink,” she orders, offering me a crystal glass full of a suspicious dark blue liquid.

“Uh, no thanks.”

She narrows her eyes at me and I have to admit, she looks _really_ scary. “I said. Drink.”

“I don’t think so. I’m not that stupid.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s not poison, you moron. It’s hangover potion. Baz told me to give it to you.”

“And I should trust you because…?”

“Because I’ll curse you if you don’t.”

“Good point.” I sit up groaning and take the glass. I stare at the liquid with apprehension.

Fiona crosses her arms and taps her foot on the floor impatiently. “I’m not getting any younger, Chosen One.”

“My name’s Simon,” I grumble, but I drink the potion nonetheless. The effect is instant and my headache is gone.

“Feeling better?” says Fiona arching an eyebrow so similar to her nephew’s that it’s a little uncanny.

“Yeah,” I say. “Um, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Like I said, it was Baz who made me give it to you.”

“Where is he?”

She shrugs. “He didn’t say, but he’ll be back soon. Until then you should probably take a shower. You reek of sweat and alcohol.”

“Thanks,” I grumble.

“Whatever, Chosen One. Baz left some clothes for you.” She points at a chair next to the bed, on top of which I can see some of Baz’s clothes neatly folded, as well as a fluffy white towel.

“That’s… really nice of him,” I say, unable to hide the tone of disbelief. True, Baz’s behavior had been impeccable yesterday, but it still leaves me dumbstruck every time I see how thoughtful he's become.

“Isn’t it,” she says exasperatedly before she leaves the room.

I rub my eyes, trying to piece together last night. I remember we went to a nightclub and that I drank _way_ too much. Everything after that is a little hazy. I recall some _very_ embarrassing details, like calling Baz cute (I cringe at the thought) and begging him to let me stay at his place because Agatha didn’t love me.

Merlin and Morgana. I’m never touching alcohol ever again.

I also remember Baz singing and playing the violin for me. I think it was at my request. And Baz was nice enough to oblige.

I shake my head in disbelief. How is it possible that Baz can change so much in just a few years? He’s like a completely different person. Is this some sort of act, to get my trust and then stab me in the back? Or maybe… it was _me_ who misjudged him back when we were at Watford after all? I mean, sure, he was a jerk (Penny agrees too and I trust her judgment). But _evil_? Remembering all the eyerolls Penny and Agatha used to make every time I said that is probably answer enough.

Maybe it had been me who had been prejudiced?

I don’t know. Suddenly it’s like the world has turned upside down and I’m left struggling to find my equilibrium.

I sigh and throw away the covers. I pick up the towel and the clothes from the chair and go to the bathroom to have a shower like Fiona suggested. When I finish, I feel like a whole new person. Clean and refreshed, I suddenly feel like I can take on everything life throws at me.

Maybe even Fiona Pitch, who’s just at the next room.

I make a grimace, but I am not the Chosen One for nothing. I clench my jaw and bravely make my way to the living room, where I find her seated at the leather couch, lazily leafing through a motorcycle magazine with a glass of what I’m pretty sure is vodka in her other hand.

She looks up when I enter the room. When she sees my defensive stance and my balled up fists, looking ready for a fight, she gives an exaggerated eyeroll that would put Penny to shame. “Relax, Chosen One,” she drawls, turning a page in her magazine. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it when you were snoring like a sailor at my guest room, don’t you think?”

I deflate a little. “I wasn’t snoring like a sailor,” I mutter under my breath.

Fiona cackles. “Yeah, right. If you don’t believe me, ask the neighbors. Or maybe the convenience store across the street. I’m pretty sure they heard you.”

I try to contain the flush that’s spreading on my face, hoping to save a little of my dignity. I fail miserably. “When’s Baz coming back?” I ask irritably.

“Didn’t say.” She shrugs, taking a sip from her vodka. “But he told me to keep you here until he comes back, so you’d better sit tight and wait like a good boy, or I might decide to use force.”

I bristle. “He told you to use force if I tried to leave?”

“No, but I like to get creative.”

I snort. “Yeah, I bet.”

I consider taking my chances and make a run for it, but the thing is... I don’t really want to leave. Or rather, I don’t want to go back to my flat. Or back to the real world in general. It’s like Baz and his crazy relatives live in a whole different plane of existence, away from my own boring life that makes me feel like I’m suffocating. Even bickering with Fiona Pitch doesn’t seem as off-putting as going back there.

Not to mention that I would feel like a real prick if I didn’t at least thank Baz for putting up with me and my moping all through yesterday.

So, I sigh and sit on the leather black armchair across from Fiona.

“There’s a good lad,” says Fiona smirking. “Want a drink?”

“What? It’s only like,” I check the clock on the wall, “eleven thirty a.m.!”

She rolls her eyes. “I figured you’re no fun. No wonder you’re such a lightweight.”

I open my mouth to retort, but at that moment I hear a key on the lock and I can hardly process the relief that washes over me when I see Baz come through the door, two bags of groceries in his arms.

He kicks the door shut and quickly assesses the atmosphere in the living room. “Everything alright here?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Everything’s just fine, Bazil,” says Fiona, rolling her eyes again. “Quit worrying.”

Baz doesn’t look particularly reassured by that. “Is that true, Snow?”

I think back at Fiona’s threat to keep me here by using force. “It could have been worse,” I admit.

Fiona kicks my shin from under the coffee table. “What are you talking about, Chosen One? Wasn’t I a splendid host?”

I glare at her as I rub my shin. “Well, you haven’t murdered me yet, so I suppose that’s a plus,” I retort.

Baz sighs and briefly leaves the room to store the groceries in the kitchen. While he’s gone, Fiona gives me another kick under the table without even looking up from her magazine.

“Will you stop that?” I hiss.

She raises an eyebrow. “Stop what?”

Before I have time to respond accordingly, Baz is back and I have to bite down my tongue before I say something really rude to his aunt. She’d deserve it, but I _really_ don’t want him to kick me out of the flat just yet. Fiona probably notices, because she gives me a knowing smirk over the rim of her glass before she drains her drink.

Baz crosses his arms over his chest and gives us both stern looks. “Alright, kids,” he says. “If you don’t behave yourselves, I’ll have to separate you two for everyone’s safety.”

“Oi, who’re you calling a kid?” says Fiona indignantly.

Baz arches one of his perfect eyebrows. “You, first and foremost.”

She makes a _tsk_ sound. “Rude.”

Baz rolls his eyes before he beckons at me. “Snow, come with me.”

“...Oh,” I say dumbly. So, he really is kicking me out. Well, I suppose he was bound to get sick of me at some point.

I stand up, trying not to look as dejected as I feel, and follow him. I ignore Fiona’s _“Show him who’s boss”_ , because I’m too busy contemplating why is Baz leading me away from the front door and towards the kitchen? Is he not going to kick me out after all?

I brace myself for whatever’s coming, ready to draw my sword at any moment if things get ugly, but I still find myself unprepared when he suddenly hands me a black apron.

“Umm,” is all I can think to say in response.

Baz rolls his eyes. “Take it, Snow, it isn’t cursed.”

I hadn’t even thought of that (where has my ever-present paranoia over all things Baz gone?), but the statement doesn’t make me feel any less confused. “Are you going to force me to do chores or something?” I ask carefully.

He smirks. “Tempting, but no.”

“Then what’s with the apron?”

Baz snorts. “The list, Snow.”

“The what?”

“The _list_. You know. The one I made you do last night? About what you want to do with your life?”

“...Oh, right.” Wow, that had completely slipped my mind. “But what does that have to do with this?”

Baz sighs heavily, like he can’t believe he has to spell it out for me. “Wasn’t cake-baking on the list?”

I stare at him for a few moments. Then I look at the apron.

Finally, it clicks.  _"Oh."_

“Yeah,” agrees Baz, amused. “Finally, Snow caught up.”

“So, you meant it when you said that I had to try everything on that list?” I say, incredulous. “And you’re going to help me with that?”

He shrugs. “Take it as an apology for all the times I tried to kill you back at Watford.”

“Umm,” I say again, unable to think of anything better. My mind’s just boggled.

_An apology?_

_Like, an actual apology?_

_Is this really happening?_

I actually pinch my arm to make sure. It hurts. “Okay, this is real.”

Baz chuckles. “It is, against all odds. So put on the apron and get to work.”

“But... I don’t know how to bake a cake.”

“Don’t worry about that. I had one of my friends from the band send me her grandmother’s recipe for a killer chocolate cake. I’ve already got all the ingredients, so all that’s left for you is to follow the instructions. Now, are you going to bake the bloody cake or not?”

I honestly don’t know what to say. While I was passed out in his bed, Baz went to all the trouble to find the recipe and go to the grocery store just to buy me the ingredients so that I can figure out whether cake-baking is my destiny. I just can’t wrap my head around it.

Does he really regret all the things he did back at Watford? Is this the reason he put up with me until now? Guilt?

I don’t know why, but it makes my heart sink to the bottom of my stomach. However, I manage to force a smile and take the apron.

“So, where do we start?”

Baz smirks and starts giving me instructions. It doesn’t sound really hard – basically it’s just mixing the ingredients and then putting it in the oven – but when we start putting it into practice, all hell breaks loose. Flour ends up going everywhere _but_ in the bowl, the eggs fall in the mix along with the shells, and I somehow manage to pour the whole sugar packet in the batter. It’s a fucking mess.

Baz and I can’t stop laughing as we look at the horrible concoction that was supposed to be the cake batter. Every time we seem like we’re going to stop, all it takes is one look at each other (both covered in flour from head to toe) to set us off again. Tears are streaming down my face and my abdomen feels like it’s developed a six-pack from all the laughing and I don’t think I’ve ever felt better.

We somehow manage to pour the (for lack of another word) “cake-batter” in a pan and put it in the oven, knowing full well that nothing short of a disaster will come out of it after half an hour. It’s then that Fiona comes into the kitchen to check on us.

Her eyes widen in absolute horror. “What the fuck happened to my kitchen?”

Her expression sets us off laughing again. “Relax, Fiona,” Baz manages to say in between fits of laughter. “We’re magicians, aren’t we?” And with a flick of his wand, the kitchen is spotless again.

Fiona glares at him. “That’s no excuse for taking advantage of my generous hospitality like that.”

Baz rolls his eyes. “Keep talking like that and I might decide not to give you a piece of our delicious cake.”

“The fuck kind of threat is that? Why on earth would I ever subject myself to such a thing in the first place?”

" _Tsk_. Your loss.”

Fiona shakes her head and then turns on her heel and leaves the kitchen, probably to go drown her sorrows in vodka.

Baz turns to me and promptly bursts out laughing again when he sees me still white from head to toe. “Crowley, you look like a ghost.”

Laughing has a strange effect on his face. It makes its sharp lines and angles smooth out and his intimidatingly spotless skin crinkle around his eyes and lips. Along with the ridiculousness of the entire situation, it makes for a rather heartwarming sight. “Have you looked your face in the mirror?”

“Good point,” says Baz before he flicks his wand again, cleaning us both up.

Predictably, we end up burning the cake. If my stomach wasn’t still hurting from earlier, I would collapse in another fit of giggles at the sight of its charred remains. “Well, this was a disaster.”

Despite my protests, Baz insists on trying it. “It will be our motivation to do better next time!” he says.

The expression of pure, utter regret on his face when he pops a small piece in his mouth is totally worth subjecting myself to the horror of trying this god-awful cake.

“Well,” I say, “I think we can both agree that cake-baking is not my calling.”

Baz frowns. “Why are you saying that?”

“Um, have you _seen_ this?” I point at the ruined cake. “It’s the most horrible thing I ever tasted.”

“Of course it is,” says Baz calmly. “It was your first time. What, did you expect to become a culinary master on your first try?”

Well, when he puts it like that, it sounds pretty stupid. But... “Then what was the point of this if not to determine whether I was any good at it?”

Baz rolls his eyes. “Snow, no one is inherently good at something – or at least, it happens very rarely. You can only become really good at something if you put a lot of effort into it. Do you think I was a musical prodigy the first time I played the violin? It sounded like someone was flaying a poor cat. But I enjoyed doing it so much that I didn’t care. _That_ is how you know that this is what you should be doing – by knowing that you enjoy the process enough to do all the hard work that’s necessary in order to become good at it. So, the question is, did you enjoy this?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “A lot.” I don’t add that it was mostly thanks to him that I enjoyed it as much as I did.

He smirks. “There you have it. See? One day in and you already have a good alternative if you ever decide to do something different with your life.”

“Yeah...” I can’t say I feel very optimistic about this (I really doubt I’ll ever have the guts to drop everything in order to pursue a career in cake-baking), but I had so much fun today that at the moment I don’t want to spoil my good mood by thinking about the future. So I just smile back.

“Anyway,” I say reluctantly, taking off the apron. “I think I should head home now. Agatha will be worrying and I also have to finish an essay for one of my classes.” I am kind of wishing Baz would keep me here by force. Even if he were to tie me to a chair and subject me to the worst tortures imaginable (say, feeding me this god-awful cake), I still think I would prefer it to having to go back there.

Sadly, he just nods. “Alright, if you’re sure you’re feeling well enough to do that.”

“Yeah, I feel much better now.” I look at the floor, feeling really awkward all of a sudden. “Thanks for... You know. Everything.”

“Don’t mention it.” I can detect hints of a smile in his voice. “I had a good time as well.”

I nod, not really knowing what else to say.

“I’ll give you a ride, if you want,” he says.

“No, that’s okay. I’ll just take the train.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod.

“Then I’ll see you out.”

He leads me to the door and then pops back to the bedroom to bring me my clothes. He comes back with a bag, which he hands over to me. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

I stand there awkwardly for a few more moments, trying to find the words to ask what I want. Thankfully, Baz beats me to it.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

“No,” I say, much too eagerly. “I have class till noon and then I’m free.”

“Do you want to do something together then?”

I smile. “Sure. Do you have something in mind?”

Baz smirks. “As a matter of fact, I do. It’s a surprise, though.”

“Like a surprise murder?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, Snow, a surprise murder. Are you up for it?”

I shrug, chuckling. “At this point, I don’t really care.”

“Good.” He takes out his phone from his pocket. “Give me your number and I’ll call you tomorrow to arrange it.”

I put my contact info in his phone and then leave the apartment, feeling lighter than I’ve felt in a while.

* * *

 

“Wait, you _what_?”

I roll my eyes. “I went out with Baz. Is that so hard to grasp?”

Penny looks like someone just told her the earth was flat. “Well, _yeah_! You hated that guy, remember? It was less than a month ago when you were theorizing on the phone that he might be plotting a coup in America.”

“I know, but... He really seems like he has changed.”

“You really believe that?”

“Well... Yes. I do.”

Penny shakes her head. “Honestly, I never thought this day would come. It’s kind of a lot to process.”

I snort. “For you and me both.”

We’re currently drinking coffee with scones in the living room of the flat I share with Agatha, doing some catching up. Agatha is out at the moment with a couple of her Normal girlfriends, which is kind of a relief. It’s been so long since I could speak to Penny face to face and I feel more at ease when it’s just the two of us.

“So, what did you do together?” asks Penny. “Did you go out for a drink and talk about the good old days, when you were trying to kill each other?”

“Yeah, pretty much. We caught up a little too. Did you know that he’s in a goth band?”

Penny chokes on her coffee. “He’s in a _what_?”

“Yeah, that was my exact reaction when he told me. Oh, and get this! Apparently, he’s gay.”

Penny’s eyes widen. “He _is_? Well, that explains a lot.”

I frown. “It does?”

“Well, he’s never seemed very interested in any of the girls at school.”

“What about Agatha?”

She shrugs. “I always kind of thought he flirted with her just to piss you off. He never paid much attention to her when you weren’t around.”

I gape at her. “Then why didn’t you tell me so? Why did you leave me to fret over the possibility of them eloping together?”

She huffs. “As if you would have listened to me. You never listened to anyone when it came to Baz.”

I deflate. She’s right, of course.

“Anyway, is he seeing someone?”

“Not at the moment. He said he’s interested in some guy, but he’s straight.”

She hums sympathetically. “Bummer.”

“I guess.” I munch on a scone. “I’m going to hang out with him tomorrow as well.”

Penny raises an eyebrow. “Really? So, what, you’re friends now?”

“I don’t know. But I had a lot of fun yesterday night.”

Penny nods. “You really do look a lot better today. Yesterday at the party, you looked a little like a zombie.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “That bad, huh?”

“Yeah, that bad.” She looks at me, concern etched all over her face. “Is everything alright with you, Simon? Are you not... happy?”

“Of course I am,” I say, trying to keep my voice light and dismissive. My mood is still good enough from this morning to somehow pull it off.

“Okay...” says Penny slowly, but she’s not fully convinced. “I just worry about you.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, Pen. Everything’s fine.”

“I’ll pretend I believe that. But, Simon. You know that you can talk to me about anything, don’t you? Just because I’m an ocean away doesn’t mean we should grow apart.”

I nod, but it’s a little hard to meet her eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

I think she feels my discomfort because she sighs and changes the subject. “Anyway, when does Baz go back to America?”

“A week from now.”

She smirks at me. “Will you miss your new bestie?”

I throw a pillow at her. “Shut up. You know you’ll always be my bestie.”

“Well, then you’ll miss _me_ after I go back to America two weeks from now.”

“Yeah, I will,” I admit. “But I’m planning to make the most of these couple of weeks.”

“Unless you spend all of your time with your new friend, Basilton.”

I playfully punch her shoulder. “You know I’d never put anyone over you. Besides, there’s no reason we can’t all hang out together.”

Penny nodded. “True. I have to admit, I’m quite curious to see this changed Baz myself. Maybe we could arrange some group outing with Micah and Agatha as well.”

I wince involuntarily. I’m not even sure why. I mean, Agatha is really nice and pleasant company. I should be excited at the prospect of spending more time with her. But the thing is... after all this time, I’ve come to associate her with things that cause me a great deal of stress and despair, while Penny and Baz with simpler times of heroics and dreams of a bright future. And I feel like, if these two separate worlds were to meet, the bleakness of one would rub off on the other and spoil it.

It’s really worrying that my own fiancée has come to feel as worse company to me than my former arch-enemy. It makes me wonder how long it will be before we start hating and resenting each other for the fact that we're stuck together for the rest of our lives.

My less-than-enthusiastic initial reaction has not gone unnoticed by Penny. “Simon, do you have anything against Micah?”

My eyes widen at her assumption. “Of course not! Come on, Pen, you know I think he’s a great lad. Do you really think I’d let you run off to America with a guy you didn't deserve?”

“Then why did you look so opposed to the idea of all of us going out together?”

“I- It’s just-” I think fast. “Don’t you think Baz might feel a little awkward in the midst of all these couples?”

Penny frowns. “Why? Now that it’s determined that he’s not actually in pursuit of Agatha, there’s no reason for things to be awkward.”

“Yeah, but...” Fuck. What do I say now? A sudden inspiration hits me. “Yeah, but how do you think he’ll feel like with all of us paired off together while he’s pining for some guy he can’t have?”

She raises an eyebrow. “So, you think that, if we all go out together, he’ll feel like we’re rubbing our happiness in his face?” She sounds really dubious.

“Well, wouldn’t you? It’s not like we used to be in the best of terms. He might assume I’m trying to get back at him for everything he did to me back at Watford.”

She thinks about it. “Very well. Then it could be just you, me and Baz. That way it’ll be less awkward for everyone.”

“Yeah, I think it will be better this way.”

Penny takes a bite from a scone and chews on it for a few moments before she speaks again. “So, what are you going to do tomorrow?”

I shrug. “No idea. He said it was a surprise.”

She chuckles. “A surprise, huh? Do you think he’s planning a murder or something?”

“That’s what I said!”

“You know, for someone who vouches he’s changed, you’re way too ready to accuse him of ill intent.”

“Old habits.”

“Anyway, keep your guard up. It’d be very stupid if the Chosen One were to die because he thought it would be a good idea to become best friends with his old arch-enemy.”

“Yes, mom.”

* * *

 

The next day, Baz picks me up from my flat at eight.

“Hey,” he greets me when I open the door, giving me an almost concerned look. (Dealing with uni and Agatha today has been pretty draining, so I don’t think I look very good. Not to mention that I didn’t sleep very well.) Then he waves a hand looking over my shoulder. “Hey, Wellbelove.”

“Hi, Baz,” she says waving back. “You two are going out again?”

“That’s the plan.”

She smiles. “Have fun, you two.”

“Thanks, Agatha,” I say as I pick up my jacket and my keys and turn to leave, but I suddenly remember something. "Oh, can you wait a second?" 

"Sure," says Baz as I go to the bedroom. 

When I come back, I hand him a bag. "It's the clothes you borrowed me, all washed and ironed."

"Oh, I completely forgot about them," he says as he picks it up and then we leave.

As we go down the stairs, he keeps shooting me these worried looks like he can’t help himself and I kind of wish the earth would open up under my feet and swallow me. Why do I always have to look such a mess every time we meet?

But, then again, when _don’t_ I look like a mess these days?

“So,” I say to break the silence, “where are we going?”

Baz smirks. “I told you. It’s a surprise.”

I roll my eyes. “You really love being all _mysterious_ , don’t you?”

“Well, I’m a vampire, aren’t I? It must be in my blood.”

Once we’re out of the building, my eyes are immediately drawn to his motorcycle. “How come you didn’t bring the car?”

He shrugs. “I prefer the motorcycle. It’s easier to maneuver through the traffic.”

I grin. “I prefer the motorcycle too.”

Baz climbs on it gracefully, smirking. “Yeah, I thought you would.”

“Ha, so you were trying to impress me?” I tease him as I take my seat behind him.

“Well, the fact that we’re not enemies anymore doesn’t mean I still don’t want to show off to you a little.”

The ride to... wherever the hell Baz is taking me is, regretfully, a short one. I’m kind of tempted to ask him to drive around the area for a little while more, but my curiosity to see where he’s brought me wins, so I slide off the motorcycle and look at the building in front of us.

My eyes widen. “An _ice rink_?”

He laughs at my expression. “Wasn’t figure-skating on the list?”

“Yeah, but... I wasn’t serious about it.” Seriously, I have no idea what came over me when I blurted it out.

“Well, too bad, because _I_ am very serious about it. So, get your arse inside before I kick it all the way there.”

I laugh and raise my arms in surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to get violent.”

As we head inside, though, I can’t help saying, “It’s going to be a disaster, though.”

“It wouldn’t be very fun if it weren’t.”

Baz and I pick up our ice-skates and sit down on the bench to put them on. “Have you skated before?” I ask him.

“Sure, many times. My sister loved to skate and she would always drag me to the ice rink with her.”

I chuckle. “It’s kind of hard to imagine the infamous Baz Pitch bossed around by a little girl.”

“Hey, Mordelia is scarier than she looks.”

“Or maybe you’re a softie and just can’t say no to her when she does puppy-eyes to you.”

He huffs haughtily. “As if.”

By the time we get to the rink, my spirits are high enough so as not to be daunted by the prospect of consecutive falls on my arse. Like Baz said, it wouldn’t be fun otherwise. The fact that there aren’t many people on the rink (it’s a Monday, after all) helps as well. It will be less humiliating with fewer spectators.

The second I step on the ice, my foot slips and I would have ended up horizontal if it hadn’t been for Baz’s vampire reflexes, who managed to grab me by my waist and keep me upright.

“Oh, thanks,” I say, a little mortified. I mean, I _knew_ I would end up falling sooner or later, but I had hoped it wouldn’t be in the first five seconds on the ice.

He rolls his eyes. “I think it’d be better if you held onto me for the time being until you find your footing.”

I nod, hoping to conceal my blush. Having to lean on Baz for support, though not exactly repulsive, is still a little awkward. I mean, this kind of closeness with someone you considered an enemy for the biggest part of your life is bound to be a little uncomfortable.

But then again, falling on the ice head-first is still more daunting a scenario, so I latch onto his left arm and lean heavily on him. He laughs at my clinginess, though his cheeks look a little colored as well, and starts to give me instructions on how to better balance myself and how to move my feet in order to slide over the ice. It sounds easy enough and, feeling more than a little secure holding onto his steady weight, I tell him I’m going to try a few steps forward – still holding his arm. He doesn’t look very sure, but he nods anyway, so I raise my foot.

The first step goes well enough. The second too. Then, starting to feel a little too safe with his support, I take another, more confident step and I lose my balance, almost dragging Baz down with me. He somehow manages to plant his skates on the ice and pull on my arm, so I end up face to face with him, our arms wrapped around each other to support ourselves.

...Fuck. This closeness is a bit further than I was prepared to go to today.

It’s not like it’s unpleasant. But it makes my skin feel like it’s on fire at every single spot he’s touching me (which covers a pretty extensive area) and my stomach feel as if it’s folding in on itself, while my heart starts fluttering madly in my chest. And his eyes, locked into mine – and so close – feel like they’re boring into mine and hooking onto the back of my skull, pulling me even closer.

And the worst thing – I suddenly remember. I remember when, yesterday night, I had been as close to him as I am now, and I remember me leaning even closer, as if to...

My face feels like it’s burst into flames.

_Holy shit._

_Did I-_

_Did I try to kiss Baz?_

“Snow?”

His voice drags me back to the present, which isn’t very different to the recent past – at least as far as proximity goes. There’s a wrinkle of concern between his eyebrows and his voice is a little unsure. It isn’t anywhere close to my own panic, though, which (inadvisably) prompts me to pull away and, predictably, land hard on my arse.

Baz bursts out laughing at my ridiculous fall before he can stop himself and it just makes everything worse because the way his face lights up when he’s laughing makes my heart feel like it’s going to jump right out of my chest.

Fuck.

Just _fuck_.

How the hell did _this_ happen?

_I am so fucked._

**BAZ**

“Crowley, Snow, are you okay?”

His eyes widen and his face turns so red he looks on the verge of spontaneously combusting. “Yeah! I’m- I mean, I’m fine! Totally fine!”

I feel a little like panicking myself. What the hell happened? Everything was fine just moments ago. Did I do something to make him uncomfortable? I had been so careful not to make things weird between us, but being this close to him might have caused me to reveal something without realizing it.

I manage to push down the panic that rises in my throat and offer him my hand to help him up. Somehow, he manages to flush an even more violent shade of red, but, probably realizing that he’ll never be able to stand up on his own on the slippery ice and with his awful coordination skills, he hesitantly gives me his hand. I try not to notice the way it’s shaking in mine and pull him up.

Hoping to ease his discomfort, I let go off his hand as soon as he’s upright, but I have no idea how we’re going to do this skating thing without touching – at least at the beginning. For a few moments we just stand there, indecisive, but we can’t come up with an alternative.

“Um...” he says, looking anywhere but at me. “Should we... I don’t know... Leave?”

My heart sinks. “Already? I mean, you only fell once. I don’t think you should give up so soon.”

“Yeah, but...”

“Come on, Snow. Just a little longer. We can leave anytime you want, but you should at least give it a chance.”

He still won’t meet my eyes, but he reluctantly nods. “Okay. Just a little longer.”

I manage not to show how relieved I am. “Here,” I say, offering him my arm. “Grab on.”

He does so tentatively and I help him slowly make his way around the rink. He follows my instructions and after a few laps he manages to get the hang of the basics, so he finally lets go off me to try by himself. He’s still unsteady on his feet and he’s still going really slowly, but at least he doesn’t fall much.

What worries me is how subdued he’s been ever since that first fall. He looks really nervous and jittery and I have no idea why. For the life of me, I can’t figure out what I did wrong and I’m too afraid to ask.

Just when I start thinking that maybe we should just go like he’d suggested, he speaks hesitantly. “Baz?”

“Yeah?”

“My legs kind of hurt. Can we take a break?”

“...Sure. Let’s go sit at the stands.”

He shakes his hands. “You don’t have to come. I mean, you didn’t get a chance to do some actual skating with me clinging on your arm. You should take this chance and, you know... Skate a little on your own.”

I kind of feel like he wants to be away from me, so I don’t argue. “Okay,” I say, forcing a smile. “Are you sure you’ll be alright on your own?”

“I’ll be fine. Have fun.” And he makes his way to the stands.

I take a few moments to pull myself together. Then I start skating around the rink – slow at first, and then faster and faster, until the stands and the few people on them look like a blur and all my troubles feel like I’ve left them miles behind.

I kind of feel like I’m flying – light and free. It reminds me of all the times I’ve spent at this same ice-rink with my sister, when she and I would race around the rink, skating like mad-men and scaring the hell out of the other people on the rink who rushed to get out of our way so as to avoid a crush. And I remember hearing Daphne yell at us anxiously from the stands, telling us to slow down so that we don’t hurt ourselves, while our younger siblings cheered for us. And I remember glancing at father’s face after we stopped to catch our breath, seeing him trying to look disapproving but the smallest traces of amusement softened his stern expression.

My lips stretch in a nostalgic smile as I fly around the rink. These outings at the ice-rink are some of my fondest memories. They were some of the only times that I could forget about the war, the Families, the Mage, the fact that I was a monster, and just be a normal carefree boy having fun with his family.

I miss them. I really do. And it’s really killing me that we’re on such bad terms now. Fiona is the only member of my family with whom my relationship hasn’t changed. Daphne, of course, is still calling me as often as she can, and Mordelia makes efforts to stay in touch with me, but my youngest siblings were too young when I run off to America and I don’t even know whether they remember their older brother. And my father...

The party at the Wellbeloves’ place was the first time I saw him after I left for America. We only exchanged a few formalities, and then we continued acting like the other didn’t exist. It pains me that our relationship is so cold now.

I take a shaky breath and then increase my speed even more, hoping to banish all negative thoughts from my mind. I recognize the familiar surge of guilt and regret and hopelessness that’s rising inside me and I want nothing to do with it. Because I know what will happen if I let myself dwell on these feelings and I have no intention of undoing all the progress I’ve made the last couple of years in getting my life together.

So I just skate and skate and leave it all behind me.

**SIMON**

I barely breathe as I watch him fly around the rink. How can a human being look so graceful and at home on an expanse of dangerous slippery ice? (Or a vampire, I guess. As far as I know, vampires are not ice creatures either.) It’s a miracle that he hasn’t bumped into anyone of the few other people on the ice.

I watch him breathlessly and with a strange fluttering in my gut as he picks up more and more speed until he looks like his skates are barely touching the ice. And I watch, fascinated, the frequent changes in his expression that go from elated to nostalgic to pained and then to determined in just a few minutes. It’s like his skates are travelling him to all sorts of places inside his head – to a journey that only he is aware of – and I kind of wish I could join him in this strange adventure and share his experiences.

I smile. I have no idea what’s going on with me and what these strange feelings blooming inside me are, but I suddenly feel like there’s no need to freak out about it. Maybe they don’t have to bring about the end of the world. Maybe they don’t need to mean anything. Maybe I can just savor them and all these moments I spend with him without pursuing anything more, until he leaves.

Maybe I should just do what I used to back in those happier times at Watford and just stop thinking for a little while.

At some point he starts to slow down and I decide that it’s time to join him on the ice again. As I clumsily approach him, I note that he looks calmer now.

“Are you okay?” I ask him when I reach him.

He gives me a smile, but it’s a little strained. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know. You looked a little troubled earlier.”

His smile looks a little more convincing now. “I’m fine, Snow. Really.”

“Well, I hope so. Because how can you coach me to become the next figure-skating champion if you’re going to be moping like that?”

Baz lets out a surprised laugh at the return of my playful mood. I must have freaked him out earlier with my weird behavior. “A champion, huh? So you’re serious about it now?”

“Yup. So, get to work, coach.”

He raises an eyebrow, but his eyes gleam mischievously. “Fine. If you want serious, then let’s try something a bit more difficult than merely slide on the ice.”

“Like what?”

“A pirouette.”

I snort. “A _pirouette_? We’re not doing ballet, Baz.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. A twirl then, or whatever is the term in figure-skating. Now shut up and watch.”

I watch him as he turns slowly on the spot. He does it so gracefully that I kind of forget to pay attention to his feet, so when he looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to try it, I flush red and ask him to do it again.

This time I focus on how he’s moving. Then I try it myself.

My feet trip over each other and I fall in a heap on the ice. Baz bursts out laughing.

“What was that, future figure-skating champion?”

“Oh, shut up and help me up.”

For the next half hour or so, I try to master the twirl, but I’m hopeless. My bottom is really sore from all the times I’ve landed hard on it and my ankle hurts a little from that time I almost sprained it. It was fun, though. And it was nice seeing Baz laugh so hard, even if it was on my expense.

Afterwards we go to a pub for a beer, where I finally find the courage to ask him what was troubling him earlier.

“Oh, that,” he says, laughing nervously. “It was nothing, really.”

“It didn’t look like nothing.”

When he looks like he is going to be evasive, I kick his leg from under the table. “Come on, Baz. All we’ve done since our little reunion was try to solve _my_ problems. I think it’s time we focus a little bit more on you.”

He sighs heavily and starts spinning his beer bottle in his hand. “I just... I mean, I don’t regret running away. But, the thing is... I miss my family. I really do. I hadn’t even realized how much until I came back here.”

“Oh. That sounds... rough.”

He shrugs, but his brows are knitted together as he stares at the bottle and he kind of looks a little like that old broody Baz from our last year at Watford.

I bite my lip. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that he’s just a boy like me, capable of feeling sad or lonely. Even now that he’s so much more approachable, he’s always so helpful and dependable that it is easy to forget that he’s got his own problems, like everyone else. I really want to help him like he’s helped me, but I have no idea how. I’ve never had a family.

Still, I give it a shot.

“I- Look, I’m probably the last person who could give you advice on a situation like this. But, whenever I desperately need a way to figure something out, I have one foolproof strategy that has saved my life a thousand times.”

Baz cocks an eyebrow. “Charging with your sword?”

I kick his shin again. “Oh, shut up, smartass. I’m serious.”

He laughs a little and I’m a little relieved. “Okay then, tell me. What’s your foolproof strategy to deal with problems?”

I take the wisest expression I can manage (which I don’t think looks very wise at all). “Ask Penny.”

Baz opens his mouth (probably to make some sarcastic remark) but closes it again, like he’s changed his mind. “Actually,” he says at last, “that sounds like a very good strategy. But, you see, I don’t have a Penny to ask.”

I chuckle. “That’s alright, you can borrow mine if you want. In fact, Penny herself wants us to all hang out together sometime, so you can ask her then.”

He looks surprised. “She does?”

“Yup. She’s very curious to see how you’ve changed for herself.”

Baz rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. “Nosy as always, I see.”

“That’s my Penny. So? What do you think?”

“Sure. We can arrange it.”

“Great,” I say, feeling excited and a little nervous at the thought that we’ll get to hang out more before he leaves. It feels a little like my stomach is doing somersaults and I don’t really know how to handle this. I’m kind of glad Penny will be there for support.

“There’s also the list to think about,” says Baz, snapping me out of my thoughts. He looks really focused and committed, and he reminds me a little of the old constantly-plotting Baz.

“Are we going to try more things from the list?” I ask, a little apprehensive. I can’t even remember the things I had blurted during brainstorming. The napkins were probably soaked and shredded in the washing machine, forgotten in the pocket of the pants he'd borrowed me.

“Of course. Did you think I was kidding when I said we’d try everything?”

“I was kind of hoping you were.”

He gives me a lopsided grin. “I don’t think so, Snow. In fact, I know exactly what we’re going to try next.”

I don’t like the sound of that. “What?”

His stormy eyes gleam mischievously. “You’ll find out soon enough. All I need you to do is find a free day during this week where you can disappear from early morning until late in the evening. Can you do that?”

I frown. “I suppose. As long as you’re not going to carry off my murder during that day.”

This time, he’s the one who kicks my leg. “Shut up, Snow.”

I chuckle. “Well, can you blame me? You tell me you’re going to steal me for a whole day without giving me any clue about what we’ll be doing. Anyone would be suspicious.”

Baz rolls his eyes. “Come on, Snow, where’s your sense of adventure? Doesn’t the thrill of the unknown make you feel alive?”

It does, it really does. I don’t think I’ve felt this alive for years, and it’s all thanks to him. There’s no boring moment in the company of Baz Pitch.

“Fine, I’ll let you kidnap me for a day. But, in exchange, you’re going to join me and Penny tomorrow for karaoke night.”

“Karaoke night, huh?” He grins. “Sure, why not? Who knows, maybe you’ll find your calling in singing.”

I laugh. “Yeah, fat chance. The only reason we go to this place on karaoke night is because they give you a whole bucket full of popcorn with your drink for free. I may have many secret talents, but, sadly, singing isn’t one of them.”

“Secret talents, huh? And I thought the only thing you were good at was swing your sword at all your problems.”

“Ouch, that was mean.”

“Okay, tell me then, what else are you good at?”

“Hmm, let’s see... I’m very good at burning cakes, falling on my arse while skating and I especially excel at screwing up my life.”

“Oh, you forgot to mention your fantastic ability to turn into an absolute idiot when drunk,” he teases me.

“Yup, that too,” I say, trying to keep up the light-hearted mood, but at the mention of that, my stomach kind of flopped. Does he remember about my moment of madness that night when I tried to kiss him? I mean, he wasn’t drunk like me, so there’s not much hope that he actually _forgot_ , but, I don’t know, could he have passed it off as just me being an idiot instead of showing a genuine interest in him? The fact that he doesn’t seem at all uncomfortable in my company probably suggests the former, but still, I can’t help but worry.

“Oi, Snow.” He waves a hand  in front of my face. “Are you with me?”

I slap his hand away. “I just got a little distracted, is that a crime?”

“No, but you looked like you were going to freak out any moment now. Lighten up a little.”

I rub my face with my hands. “Sorry. I’m just... a little tired, I guess.”

“Oh. Do you want to leave?”

No. I really, really don’t. But my mood’s already sinking, fast and steady, and I have no idea how I’ll be able to keep up the conversation while running so low on juice.

“Maybe...” I say reluctantly.

Baz frowns. Then he gives me a grin. “Do you want to know what _my_ foolproof strategy to deal with problems is?”

I frown. “What?”

He just grins and calls the waitress to pay for our drinks. “You’ll see.”

Once we’re outside, I can’t hold my tongue anymore. “Are you going to tell me what that strategy is?”

Baz rolls his eyes. “Impatient, aren’t we? Well, since you want to know so much…” He grins and gestures at his motorcycle. “Get on.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “ _This_ is your foolproof strategy to deal with problems?”

“Yup. So, what do you say, Snow? Want to ride around for a while?”

I can’t help it - I smile. “Hell yes.”

Five minutes later, we’re practically flying over the pavement, me holding onto Baz for dear life and laughing loudly, my brain blissfully empty of everything.

 _Yes_ , I admit as I close my eyes, feeling the wind whoosh past me and the warmth of his body in my arms. _This is a very good strategy indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meh, I'm not very satisfied with how this turned out... Still, I'd love to hear what you thought of it :)


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